


Harsher Than Fiction

by Synthetic_Soul



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Human!zenyatta, Humans now serve them, If omnics won the war, Intimidation, M/M, Master/Pet, Minor Violence, Mondatta but not as you know him, Noncon mention, OC death, Other, Power play dynamics, The Iris was a lie, hard angst, omnic Mondatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthetic_Soul/pseuds/Synthetic_Soul
Summary: In the wake of the death of a former ally, Mondatta discovers that his old friend was hiding more than just himself and the determination to, one day, rebel against him.





	Harsher Than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based on the AU RP between @saltywinternix and I. Thanks for creating such awesome stories with me and letting me borrow Natesh for this outing <3

Prequel to[ Would You Kindly ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11913315)

Part of the Embracing Entropy series.

 

**Harsher Than Fiction.**

 

The floor felt unforgiving beneath his knees. Scraped raw and bleeding, their persistent throb left him feeling as though every pulse marred the polished hardwood floor, its rich, dark surface gleaming to the point he could see his face reflected within its glossy facia. A pure gold border stretched around each four corners of the sizable space, glistening with shimmering effect, captivating the wandering gaze in a bid to divert attention to the lavishness of his surroundings. Such opulence, a grandiose display of extreme wealth and power, this entire room - a study of sorts - was an ode to the concept. 

But, trembling with tension and in enough pain for it to be of great distraction,  he could not bring himself to appreciate any aspect of it. Not while the fires of disdain, of pure, untamed hatred, still burned behind those golden eyes. Rimmed in red and puffy with it too, they weren’t the only outward sign of his emotional state. The vitriol, he had so adamantly spat upon being brought here, had been particularly venomous for one so, usually, meek and mild. 

 

Something slipped beneath his downward pointed chin, something cold, smooth to the touch and prehensile, icy segments curling to conform to the gentle curvature of his jawline. The slightest pressure was used as leverage, tilting his gaze up, disturbing the long length of heavy duty chain that hangs limp from the silvery eyelet affixed to the collar secured around his neck - A necessary precaution, his captors had told him, essential in order for him to travel to their leader’s estate. If he was to be in the presence of  _ the _ Tekhartha Mondatta, then he, a lowly human, would need to ‘dress’ accordingly. 

 

He resists, but only at first, eyes downcast and disagreeable, refusing to open them fully, to gaze upon the milky-white faceplate of the one now cradling his face in one, oversized, metallic hand. And the omnic, still attempting to inspect his newest acquisition, emits a clicking tut, ghosting one alloy thumb across the graze that sullied the boy’s cheekbone, disapproving. 

 

“What a trying time this must be for you, little one.” 

 

That voice is so soft, its cooing so deceptively tender. One might have said  _ sympathetic _ . Yet the shackled human felt sick to his stomach. This omnic knew exactly what he’d been through and so he made no mistake: The omnic, Mondatta, was gloating. 

 

Those same frigidly cold fingers dug in, squeezing against a pressure point close to the wound to wring an uncomfortable mewl from somewhere in the back of the human’s throat - the first sound he’s made since his arrival - forcing the bile in his gut to rise with it. Against all of his better impulses, he opens his eyes and looks. 

 

The face looking back at him was static, pristine, matte-white paintwork, but for the minimal chip or scrape along one, precise, ‘cheek bone’ and brow ridge, and glowing teal optical array inlay. At the center, lowermost part of the omnic’s faceplate, a gleaming, rich-gold emitter through which the mocking synth had bled. It was not an unpleasant sight, he supposed, but the mind that worked behind that spotless facade was infinite in so many, terrible, ways. 

He believed this omnic capable of every one of them. 

 

“Fear not. By the the time this day is through, you will understand your place in the grand scheme of things.”  

 

Mondatta straightened, long limbs emitting a soft, mechanical whine, wiping the scant amount of crimson, defiling his thumb, onto the immaculate fall of his kāṣāya. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, he did not much care for any form of response the human might offer, and nor should he. This was how it should be, and the human was quite obedient considering the report he’d reviewed. It was that same, highly suspicious, report that had forced Mondatta’s hand somewhat; because here knelt something of a mystery. A mystery that raised far too many questions and yielded absolutely no definitive answers whatsoever. 

 

“And you say he was found inside the traitor’s hovel?” Mondatta intoned, voice as richly appointed as the furnishings in their near surroundings. It might have been enigmatic under different circumstances, but this was to address the room’s only other occupant: A rather rotund and stubby looking omnic, one who had been so kind as to leash then ferry this bag of flesh and bones to Mondatta’s auspicious doorstep. 

 

“That is correct, Master Mondatta.” The other responded, his tinny, almost sibilant synth sounding the most emotionally responsive the human had heard it thus far. 

 

“You consider this human to be remarkable, still I am yet to see evidence that he is different to any of those who toil in their rightful place at our feet.” Mondatta gestured a broad motion with one hand. “Many choose to keep their servants, even after leaving our ranks, legally or otherwise. What you have brought me is hardly  _ remarkable _ , Natesh.”  

 

“Oh but it _ is _ master -” Natesh, stout and swaddled in a voluminous kāṣāya, which did nothing to detract from his diminutive size, paused, nervously frozen mid-gesture as he debated the wisdom of his disagreement. It was a precarious place to be, balanced upon the edge of a proverbial blade. 

His superior could be a benevolent and generous leader, he had, after all, plucked Natesh from the obscurity of a human scrap-heap and, with a little guidance, elevated him through the ranks to work directly at the grand leader’s side. But Mondatta’s benevolence was only one side of the coin. His wrath was a force Natesh had witnessed regularly. After all, it had been to Natesh, personally, he’d dictated his severe directive that very afternoon. 

His optics risked deviating from the spot they’d been fixed on upon the wall. Mondatta held himself poised, one hand skirting the underside of his ‘jawline.’ 

Yes, now the subordinate knew that everything that he was, that he could be, rode on the words he spoke next. 

 

“Apologies, Master. Perhaps I was not completely transparent in my report. The human was not simply found inside the traitor’s home, it had appears it had been  _ living _ with him.”

 

The hand that had, so delicately, been skirting Mondatta’s faceplate, dropped. 

 

All of the synthetic tendons inside of Natesh’s frame recoiled, tense, creaking, betraying his assumption that this was it, this was the day he would be ordered to throw himself upon his own sword. 

But the order did not come and Natesh, poor, strained, nerve-shot Natesh, knew that if he didn’t continue to stumble ungainly along the path he had begun, it actually would. 

 

“I-it is my surmisation, Master, that this human? All evidence points to the possibility that Fon was treating it as his equal.” 

 

“What  _ evidence?” _

 

The leader’s slender frame creaked, pistons releasing tension, as it bent forwards, looming, suddenly encroaching upon his subordinate’s personal space, and Natesh had to force himself to fight against the wishes of every proximity sensor he possessed. He could not afford to back away.

 

“It...that is to say the human -”

 

“Be swift, Natesh.” 

 

“It bears no registration markings. T-that means that it was -” 

 

Gesturing a severe chop of one hand, Mondatta ceased the other’s babble so quickly that it actually made the human, still knelt at his feet, start. However, the human’s comfort was not his concern. 

 

“I know what it means!” He hissed, reaching, now, for the length of chain that anchored the young man to the floor. Links rang angrily, while clever, metallic fingers ran the length across his digits, gripping at a point he considered optimal for control.  _ ‘It means he was hidden the moment he was born, it means that Fon’s treachery ran far deeper than I could have anticipated.’ _ Mondatta’s thoughts seethed, a boiling pressure within his circuits. It was one thing to defy him, to oppose him and side with the very creatures who had - and would once again if given the chance - subjugated and enslaved them, taken away their rights, to offer them the false hope of rebellion. But this?! 

 

Mechanical fingers closed tighter and tighter around the length of chain, the pressure of galvanized metal on metal making the limb, to which his hand was attached, tremble ever so slightly. At the very second the chain began to rattle, the pressure was released, and Mondatta’s eerie masque of calm had descended upon him once again. 

 

“It seems our dear Fon was more misguided than we first believed. How pitiful,”  He tilted his helm in the human’s direction.  _ “How weak.” _

 

Natesh visibly sagged in place, the high pitched ringing of his pistons depressurizing embarrassingly loud. 

 

“I do hope you took care of him as dishonourably as I instructed, Natesh?” 

 

A rattling whir punctuated the underling’s reply. “It was done, Sir. An example was made to all.” 

 

This, at least, was met with an approving hum, but Mondatta’s sights were still fixed firmly on the quiescent human. He did not snivel like the others, although he had certainly been upset. Dark in complexion, skin smooth and unblemished but for the injuries he bore, the hair atop his head had been kept down to just above the roots, making it fuzzy and soft to the touch. Neat and tidy, the omnic leader observed, he was not unpleasant to the eye. When he had arrived, he had been clad in tatty old clothes, later stripped of them and scrubbed thoroughly for the purpose of his presentation. Given little more than a simple robe that hung loosely from his toned, yet lean, frame, hints of said tone shifted restlessly beneath the coarse fabric, drawing the eye to rove wherever the impulse seemed fluid, disappearing where one could see no more and imagination took observation’s place. 

It was the boy’s face that was surprisingly alluring, if unassuming. Though it bore the marks of his resistance - such a pity Natesh had been so rough with him, he was rather interesting - his high cheekbones and youthful features contrasted beautifully with the soft, muted, gold of his eyes. Quite captivating...for a human, split lip aside.

 

Mondatta tugged, firmly, on the chain, wrenching the unsuspecting human forward so fast, he crumpled, like a sack of bones, at the omnic’s feet. What sounded like an initial grunt of stifling pain from the boy, erupted as a startled cry of alarm when his robe was unceremoniously grasped and tugged up, revealing the clean, untouched flesh of the young man’s thigh.

 

No registration markings, no scars of attempts to flay an existing one from his body. Natesh wasn’t being obtuse.

 

Better for his subordinate, then.  But where did this leave him if not with more questions?

 

Upon the floor, belly up and eyes wide, the human observed Mondatta closely.  _ ‘Oh how positively adorable.’  _

His chest rising and falling heavily, arms recoiled as if this human could have defended himself against the slender omnic holding his leash, it was plain to see that he’d been expecting far worse than that which he had been dealt. 

_ ‘All in good time.’ _ Mondatta thought, darkly, stepping away but still keeping a tight hold on that chain.

 

“If I am to believe my assistant here, you were something special to poor, deceased, Fon.” He chirped, perhaps a little _ too _ cheery. In truth, the realization of what he’d been forced to do was bittersweet, but ultimately, necessary.   “Personal servant, concubine…” He twisted at the waist to cast a glance back over one shoulder disk, “Do stop me when I reach your assigned title.”

  
  


“Zenyatta.” 

 

Unprepared for the human to respond at all, the expeditious reply had Natesh sputtering and near glitching. No one, not even when invited, dared to interrupt the master. And iris, if this was one of Mondatta’s usual meandering interrogations, then he had not been done by far when the human had spoken. 

More confusingly so, the human was not berated for such audacity. 

 

_ “Zenyatta?” _

 

The boy nodded, stiffly, self assured. “He named me Zenyatta.” 

 

The omnic leader pivoted around on one foot to face the prone human, chain slightly elevated in one hand, a silent threat of dire consequence, should this be a lie. “Fon deigned to waste his time in naming his humans? What an entirely pointless exercise.”

 

But the human, this  _ ‘Zenyatta’ _ didn’t even flinch.

 

Natesh, however, had heard enough and could not, for as much as it was in his best interest to do so, prevent the untimely outburst that spilled from his emitter. “Master, I have heard some disgustingly abhorrent things in my time, but you cannot believe that he actually gave it a name. Never - “

 

**_“Never_ ** , interrupt me!” Mondatta’s voice boomed, echoing, imposingly, off the room’s highly decorated walls. It silenced Natesh completely, down to the sound of his very processors ticking over, a dull purr against the remnants of that echo. No doubt he was imagining all the ignominious ways in which his leader could, quite easily, dispose of him, too.  “Zenyatta is speaking.”

 

A certain predatorial grace about him, Mondatta gestured ‘after you’ to the boy, still trying to rearrange himself on the floor, prompting, “Why don’t you tell us how it was you came to be in Fon’s possession?” 

 

To Natesh’s silent disgust, the human’s face actually showed signs of bravado. What, with his scrunched up nose and deeply creased brow, this Zenyatta was flirting with a sudden but painful death!

 

“I wasn’t his possession!” The sprawled human spat, painfully cracked lips yielding a fresh droplet of blood. “I wasn’t property. I know who you are, what you are and I don’t have to tell you murders  _ anything.” _  Fist clenched tightly within the shackles, lithe frame shaking with tremors born of pure rage, anguish and exhaustion. How long had it been since he had slept, ate or drank? Too long, and were his adrenaline not peaking, he might have dropped there and then. 

 

The omnic holding Zenyatta’s chain positively tittered, deeply amused. Interlacing intricately engineered fingers, he appeared no more moved by the display than he was flesh and blood. But Natesh knew better; his master was at his most dangerous like this, the calm before the storm. And true to form, Mondatta’s response was forthcoming.

 

“Murderer, am I? And what do you suggest I do with those who actively seek to bring about my own downfall?” One large, flat palm stroked languidly, condescendingly, over the peach-fuzz of Zenyatta’s head. This time, Mondatta leaned in so close, the icy bite of his faceplate pressed tight to the young man’s cheek, the chill cooling the angry, hot throb of that injury. “Wait for them to find me, perhaps. Would they grant me clemency, Zenyatta?” A synthetic sigh, pure theatrics for his drop into a ghostly whisper, manufactured for the boy’s ears alone.  _ “Would you?”  _

 

Zenyatta shivered, offering up no answer - at least none so swift - and felt that faceplate vibrate as a bark of unrestrained laughter rippled through it, before Mondatta slid smoothly away again. 

 

“I thought not.” 

 

Mondatta was in his element like this, holding center stage, proud, superior. He’d toyed with this whelp long enough and now it was time to cut to the core of the matter. 

 

“I won’t ask again, Zenyatta: What were you to Fon?” 

 

The human’s eyes finally broke contact with him, dropping to the floor a flush of duskier colour rising from the upper reaches of his chest to climb his neck and cheeks. His breathing had not calmed, if anything, it was...shakier than before. It was the first time Mondatta had seen him look fragile. 

_ ‘Oh my, have I touched a nerve?’  _

 

Zenyatta drew a shaky breath, stilling the shake of his hands by planting them solidly either side of himself. 

 

“He….he was my...he, looked after me,  was the closest person I had to a parent.” Stifling his tears was not easy when wracked with rage, by the breath hitching hot and uncomfortable in his throat. It made it hard to speak at all. “He found me when I was small, too small to remember. Fon fed me, clothed me, taught me all I knew to a point.”  

 

There had been a time when he had grown too old to be supervised all of the time, a time when Fon had no other choice but to risk Zenyatta wandering, discovering things about this terrible new world that would probably put him in the very danger he was in right now. But he’d done it and for that while, that long, free while, Zenyatta had flourished. 

 

“He looked after me, and when I was able, I tried to do the same for him.” 

 

_ ‘Tried _ ,’ The anger resting heavily on his shoulders crooned.  _ ‘And failed _ .’ 

 

“Fon was no threat to you,  _ none of us were _ , a-and you just…just-”

 

“Did what had to be done.” Mondatta finished. “Thought you may be naught but nuisance flies in your little pockets of resistance, it is prudent to quash such pests before they breed.” 

 

Did this human think him stupid? Their movement would have gathered momentum eventually and omnics would, once again, find themselves scrapped in their droves. Still, it all seemed a little too suspicious, given what he knew of Fon’s past, Mondatta was unwilling to believe it all stopped with what Zenyatta was telling him. He needed to persevere. 

 

“Fon and I shared something of a common interest, long before he ever harboured such delusional idealism. With such a notion in mind, I find it hard to believe that he had no purpose for you, nor that he would keep such a purpose hidden from you.” 

 

But all Zenyatta did was shake his head. “He taught and spread the message of the Shambali...the original message. I suppose I helped prove his point.  Humans and omnics can coexist peacefully.”  The boy’s gaze seemed to grow distant, glazed, staring off through the grand window at the far end of the room, which overlooked the grounds. “He spoke of you often. I used to think the stories he told were just that: Stories.”  

 

Mondatta felt his inner mechanics begin to grind against each other. “I can only imagine what he said.” He could imagine plenty. But he was not the only one who had a past that was not exactly steeped in glory. 

 

Zenyatta’s gaze had since drawn back into focus, and had its sights set firmly on the omnic leader, dagger sharp and ready to drive its point home. If he could just free himself, he’d see it done, even if that meant his end. 

_ ‘Even if it means dishonouring everything Fon taught you?’ _  Why, oh why did his conscience plague him now, in the one place he did not need nor want it? Had he enough chain, he might have clutched at his own head in anguish. No, he did not need nor want it, but it bothered him, he realized, because it was  _ right _ .

 

“All he ever wanted was peace, for you to see that it doesn’t need to be like this!” The tears had made a hot, stinging return, clinging to the fringes of his dark lashes, threatening to spill over. “He worked so hard to atone for everything he’d done during the uprising.”

 

Brash and obnoxious, Natesh’s mechanical scoff split the atmosphere, a comment no doubt pending, causing even Mondatta to flinch irritably. 

 

_ “Leave us.” _ The words, every bit as cutting and blunt as the words that Natesh must have been harbouring, he stared his subordinate down, watching keenly as the stout omnic executed a curt bow, backing towards the door as swiftly as he’d entered earlier. Not swift enough for Mondatta, and only when he heard the lock cycle, did he truly return his mind to the fore. 

 

And that was when the omnic leader struck. 

 

A sharp tug on the boy’s chain pitched Zenyatta forward while Mondatta stepped low, meeting him half way to break the human’s fall. One hand braced on his chest brought Zenyatta to a gentle halt while the other raised, fingertips sliding cool and easily along the man’s jawline, cradling it almost adoringly. Now that he was so close, Zenyatta found himself squinting into the visage that eclipsed his vision, blinded by the argent glare of bright blue optics, eyes stinging and face scrunching, he wriggled, trying to wrench himself back and away from the omnic’s attentions, but the hand grasping his robe held him firm. 

 

“Oh yes, Fon worked tirelessly, my dear  _ Zenyatta _ , day and night, sometimes barely resting between ‘clients.’” Pausing for effect, Mondatta’s vitriol had every chance to saturate the other’s mind, fully. “It was his primary function after all, he never could quite override it, not completely.”  This much was true, but perhaps he’d found a way? That did not matter now. 

“It made his masters so very pleased with him, a pity he never saw the fruits of his labour. His only reward was relief.” 

 

The omnic’s optics focused in on the subtle twitch and narrowing of the human’s eyes, the barely formed beginnings of a snarl.  _ ‘Yes, that’s it. Now you realize.’ _

 

“I believe he once told me he would see in excess of up to thirteen clients on the most profitable nights, and when I found him, he was in such a sorry state. Deplorable, really.” He shook his head, synth clicking that same tutting sound he’d issued earlier. “But I gave him purpose, I gave him the opportunity to be so much  _ more _ than a tool, a _ receptacle _ to be used and broken. Fon grasped that opportunity like the lifeline that it was and rose with me, he did what had to be done, just like I, just like Natesh.” 

 

Zenyatta’s snarl had taken full bloom, lips trying to form a rebuttal Mondatta was not yet ready to grant him. Oh how delicious, there really was something positively entertaining about this human. Such delightful responses he offered, his mind was already reaching an intriguing conclusion. 

 

“And look what he did with the opportunity I gave to him; He squandered it...utterly pathetic.”

 

The omnic tightened his grip on the front of the boy’s simple robe, twisting in order to pull him so close enough that he could feel Zenyatta’s breath registering with his temperature sensors, and despite himself, felt a little zing of electrical pulses trail up his spinal column. Still the human didn’t recoil, didn’t back down or beg, or plead. He liked this human, perhaps he’d keep him?

 

“Raising a human does not erase the years he spent bent over for their pleasure, nor the years he spent putting humanity in its rightful place as a result.” A dark chuckle, mocking, scathing, permeated the hair’s breadth between them, consuming and cementing the point as he finished. “You were a product of his  _ guilt _ , Zenyatta.”  

 

If only Zenyatta had known the half of it. 

 

And as expected, that snarl gave way with a snap, an angry, nonsensical cry shattering the tension within the room explosively. The human surged, rising up from the floor so suddenly Mondatta barely had enough time to draw back the milimeters he required in order to give himself enough room to shove the boy away from him. He did so without preamble, with enough force to send Zenyatta careening back across the smooth polished floor until the chain around his neck almost ran out. 

Disorientated and scrambling to push himself upright again, Zenyatta raised his gaze in time to see the omnic leader re-securing his leash to the golden anchorpoint in the center of the floor, nonchalantly taking just enough steps back so that, should he try so, the chain would reach its end long before the boy reached Mondatta. 

 

“Such fire in you!” Mondatta chirped, nigh on melodic as he clapped both hands together. Zenyatta had been nothing short of entertainingly delightful to break, even in such minor ways. “Misguided, yes. Foolish, oh certainly. But the zeal? I like that, Zenyatta. I like that above all.” 

 

The boy looked so confused, so utterly mollified by what was happening now that all he could do was stand there, hot, furious tears staining those near-perfect cheeks, straining at the chain that just wouldn’t  _ budge! _

 

“You see, my poor, confused boy,  Fon may have had no purpose for you, but I certainly do.” Fluidly, he slipped into the space between the large, grandiose desk and it’s plushly appointed chair, the aged leather creaking as he settled his weight upon it. “Feel honoured,  _ pet _ . I have decided to keep you.” How amusing that this had all come full circle and, in time, Zenyatta would learn just how full that circle really was. 

 

“Wh...what…?” Breathless little words tried to form on Zenyatta’s stricken lips, yet no true sound, strong enough to be acknowledged, passed. But the light behind his eyes spoke volumes. Reality, it seemed, was harsher than whatever fiction Fon had told him. They had all the time in the world to become intimately acquainted with just how much that differed from what he'd been told.

 

Pressing one index finger to the spot that activated his internal intercom, Mondatta levelled his gaze at Zenyatta. 

 

“Natesh? I do hope you still retained your branding protocol, I have a particular design in mind that is simply exquisite.” 

  
  
  



End file.
